When Hagar found the bottle spent And wept o’er Ishmael, A message from the Lord was sent To guide her to a well. Should not Elijah’s cake and crus…

The Lord proclaims His grace abro… ‘Behold, I change your hearts of… Each shall renounce his idol-god, And serve, henceforth, the Lord a… ’My grace, a flowing stream, proce…

Me to whatever state the gods assi… Believe, my love, whatever state b… Ne’er shall my breast one anxious… Ne’er shall my heart confess a rea… If to thy share heaven’s choicest…

Thy mansion is the Christian’s he… O Lord, Thy dwelling place secure… Bid the unruly throng depart, And leave the consecrated door. Devoted as it is to Thee,

Still, still, without ceasing, I feel it increasing, This fervour of holy desire; And often exclaim, Let me die in the flame

My soul is sad, and much dismay’d; See, Lord, what legions of my foe… With fierce Apollyon at their hea… My heavenly pilgrimage oppose. See, from the ever-burning lake,

Ah! wherefore should my weeping ma… Those gentle signs of undissembled… When from soft love proceeds the d… Ah, why forbid the willing tears t… Since for my sake each dear transl…

Other stones the era tell, When some feeble mortal fell; I stand here to date the birth Of these hardy sons of earth. Which shall longest brave the sky,

Here lies, whom hound did ne’€™er… Nor swiftewd greyhound follow, Whose foot ne’€™er tainted morning… Nor ear heard huntsman’€™s hallo’€… Old Tiney, surliest of his kind,

My former hopes are fled, My terror now begins; I feel, alas! that I am dead In trespasses and sins. Ah, whither shall I fly?

If John marries Mary, and Mary a… ’Tis a very good match between Ma… Should John wed a score, oh, the… It can’t be a match:—’tis a bundle…

Oh that those lips had language!… With me but roughly since I heard… Those lips are thine’€”thy own swe… The same that oft in childhood sol… Voice only fails, else, how distin…

Man, on the dubious waves of error… His ship half founder’d, and his c… Sees, far as human optics may comm… A sleeping fog, and fancies it dry… Spreads all his canvas, every sine…

To watch the storms, and hear the… Give all our almanacks the lie; To shake with cold, and see the pl… In autumn drown’d with wintry rain… ’Tis thus I spend my moments here…

No more shall hapless Celia’s ear… Be flattered with the cries Of lovers drowned in floods of tea… Or murdered by her eyes; No serenades to break her rest,